1945, ISBN: 99a422c265bc7a5cd7a9dc5cad4f0650

Taschenbuch, Gebundene Ausgabe

SOFTBACK * Edition: 7th Imp. 7,9,10,8, * Date of Publication: 1990* Publisher: Penguin* Binding and cover condition: Soft card covers, Minor shelf wear, slight rubbing to corners, slight … Mehr…

SOFTBACK * Edition: 7th Imp. 7,9,10,8, * Date of Publication: 1990* Publisher: Penguin* Binding and cover condition: Soft card covers, Minor shelf wear, slight rubbing to corners, slight creases to hinge, not to spine. NEAR FINE* Contents condition: PRIVATE COPY NOT EX-LIBRARY, Clean, crisp, tight & bright. Very slight colouration to page margins and edges. No inscriptions or annotations.* Pages: 230 pp. text. vii pp. Index at rear.* Illustrations: None.* Pages: 230 pp. text. vii pp. index at rear.* Product Description:- McGough's first book of poems was published just over 20 years ago, and this volume represents his own selection of his best work. His other titles include "Melting Into the Foreground", "Sky in the Pie" and "Summer with Monika". The book consists of selected works between 1967 and 1987. Poems featured include Let Me Die A Youngman's Death, Away From You, Soil, Bulletins, Out of Sequence, Three Rusty Nails, Cabbage, Rabbit in Mixer Survives, Bye Bye Black Sheep and, Hundreds and Thousands. A witty and satirical collection.* This is a VG copy of the 1st./7th. with minimal shelf wear & slight age.*, Penguin, 1990-10-25, 4, 360 pages."Young Theo Paxstone aspires to a better life. A mechanic at a steam mech repair shop, he slaves away under the sharp eye of the ruthless Master Grimes, along with dozens of other orphan boys. The biggest and meanest of them, Grant, has in it for Theo and his best friend, Ollie, the shop's parts-spotter cockatoo. The chatty bird helps keep Theo going, as every day is a struggle for survival.When the largest dragon ever seen descends out of the night sky and sets the royal tournament aflame, Theo escapes to help. He saves a crippled steam knight, Sir Bentham, from the blaze, assisted by Bentham's pugnacious squire, Riley.Together, they decide to hunt the monstrous dragon down before it can kill again.But nothing is as it seems, and Theo soon finds himself caught up in an adventure that will turn his entire world upside down...THEO PAXSTONE AND THE DRAGON OF ADYRON is a fast-paced fantasy adventure that brings together steampunk and medieval myths, pitting noble knights in steam powered battle machines against dragons. Yet the feudal Kingdom of Adyron is mired in injustice, and even the heroes have something to hide."Like some sort of steampunk Robotech without the convoluted timeline, the first adventure of Theo Paxstone features an appealing cast of central characters and an intriguing plot that zips along at a delightful pace. The adventure is serious, but Turner lobs some light touches and natural humour into the fray. The book is such an adept balancing act, your "sauce-box" will drop open when you learn it's his first book for younger readers."Evan Munday, author of the Silver Birch-shortlisted 'The Dead Kid Detective Agency''This is a charming futurist fantasy that will appeal to young steampunk fans. In a world of ravaged by global conflagration, humankind has reverted to a feudal society powered by steam. An orphan named Theo uses his mechanical genius to find a ticket out of a crowded sweatshop, offering his services to an old knight with a heart of gold. Yes, there is a quest, but no, it doesn't turn out the way you'd expect. It's a fun read enhanced by the author's quirky illustrations.'Sheree-Lee Olson, author of 'Sailor Girl'."James Turner is the creator of the comic book series 'Rex Libris.' (jc1218), Self-published, 2017, 0, Penguin Publishing Group. Used - Good. Former library book; may include library markings. Used book that is in clean, average condition without any missing pages., Penguin Publishing Group, 2.5, New York: Zebra Men's Adventure, 1984. Fourth Printing . Mass Market Paperback. Good. 240 Pages. August 1984 Edition. Price Sticker on back cover. Square, tight and bright. World War III was only the beginning. Inevitable death now awaits every soul who lived through the holocasut as the earth's atmosphere is about to explode into a searing blaze of fire. But one man refuses to die, refuses to accept the horror. John Thomas Rourke, the ex-CIA Covert Operations Officer, weapons expert and suvival authority. Rouke, desperate to find and save his family, must first smash through Russian patrols and then cut to the heart of a KGB plot that could spawn a lasting legacy of evil. And when the sky bursts into flames, consumiing every living being on the planet, it will be the ultimate test for the Survivalist., Zebra Men's Adventure, 1984, 2.5, Penguin Publishing Group. Used - Very Good. Ships from the UK. Former library book; may include library markings. Used book that is in excellent condition. May show signs of wear or have minor defects., Penguin Publishing Group, 3, Penguin Publishing Group. Used - Good. Former library book; may include library markings. Used book that is in clean, average condition without any missing pages., Penguin Publishing Group, 2.5, "An exquisitely crafted novel of love discovered and friendship found."Martha Hall Kelly, author of Lilac GirlsRuby's life glitters with success, but she still must conquer her tragic past and discover what love really looks like.Lily Decker never meant to become a showgirl. As a young girl in small-town Kansas, she danced to forget the pain of losing her family in a car accident. And dancing made her feel beautiful when the attentions of her Uncle Miles only brought shame. In 1967, Lily is grown and ready to leave her past behind. She changes her name to Ruby Wilde and heads to the Rat Pack's Las Vegas to make a name for herself as a troupe dancer. However, the competition is fierce and she finds work as a showgirl, instead, doing fan-kicks in sky-high headdresses and sparkling costumes. Her new life brims with glamour and excitement, but something is still missing. Is it love? What choices will she make to feel whole again, and at what cost?With her uncanny understanding of the hidden lives of women, Elizabeth J. Church captures the iconic extravagance of an era and the bravery of a woman who blazes her own path to freedom.Praise for All the Beautiful Girls"[Elizabeth] Church's lively coming-of-age tale transports us to a world of ostrich-plumed headdresses and pinky-ringed mobsters while tracing a tumultuous quest for acceptance and love."People"A gorgeously written novel with the bite of a gin martini, All the Beautiful Girls goes beyond the splashy, gaudy dazzle of Las Vegas in the sixties to reveal the beating heart beneath the glamorous façade of a showgirl with big ambitions."Sara Gruen, New York Times bestselling author of At the Water's Edge"A stirring bildungsroman that follows a girl from trauma in 1957 Kansas to self-discovery in 1960s Las Vegas . . . Church paints an unflinching, frequently heartbreaking portrait of a resilient young woman's coming-of-age set against an exciting, glamorous backdrop."Publishers Weekly"Church's appreciation of language is apparent as she masterfully creates pictures with words . . . All the Beautiful Girls provides a delightful antidote to cold and dark mid-winter days."Associated Press"A beautifully rendered tale of personal redemption filled with friendship, loss, extravagant furs, and feathery headdresses."Kirkus Reviews, ballantine Books, 2018, 6, Bantam Press. Good. 6 x 1.25 x 9.25 inches. Paperback. 2007. 400 pages. <br>The breathtaking new thriller from the author of B ravo Two Zero. Body guarding a TV crew on the streets of war-to rn Basra, ex-deniable operator Nick Stone's life is saved by a re porter's swift action as a roadside bomb explodes. When the man l ater vanishes, Stone is asked to find him. The trail leads from I raq to Bermuda, London and Kabul, the dark and brutal city where governments, terrorism and big business inexorably collide. Caugh t in the crossfire, his nightmare is only just beginning, for the hunter has suddenly become the hunted. . . Editorial Reviews R eview A heart-thumping read. -Daily Express McNab's great asset is that the heart of his fiction is non-fiction: other thriller writers do their research, but he has actually been there. -Sunda y Times About the Author Andy McNab was the British Army's most highly decorated serving soldier when he left the SAS in February 1993. He wrote about his experiences in two phenomenal bestselle rs, Bravo Two Zero and Immediate Action. He is the author of the bestselling novels, Remote Control, Crisis Four, Firewall, Last L ight, Liberation Day and Dark Winter. Excerpt. Reprinted by per mission. All rights reserved. 1 Tuesday, 27 February 2007 0015 h rs North-west of Basra The noise and heat, gloom and sheer fucki ng claustrophobia in the back of the Warrior were oppressive enou gh, but now the armour was suddenly clanging three times a second like the world's strongest madman was using it for sledgehammer practice. We were taking rounds. It could only mean we were closi ng in on target. The engine roared and the tracks screeched over the rock. The front end dipped hard. 'Fuck!' the Scouse driver screamed over the radio net, as he stood on the anchors. 'There' s a fuck'n' bastard tank!' The commander yelled back so loud I h ad to lift the PRR pad from my ear. 'Go right, you cunt - you'll hit the fucker!' Until a few years ago, the only way troops could communicate with each other was by shouting or hand signals, but every man and his dog now wore a personal role radio. It had rev olutionized the infantry. Just four inches by six, with a headset consisting of an ear pad, Velcro strap and little boom mike, PRR acted effectively as a secure chat net between troops. The Chal lenger's thundering growl had come from our left. The tracks sque aled and we gripped whatever we could get hold of to stop ourselv es being flung from our seats. We took more small-arms fire into the hull, and then there was a much louder bang two feet away fro m my shoulder. 'RPG!' Rocket-propelled grenades could punch hol es in concrete walls. I knew it would just bounce off the skirt o f bar armour surrounding us, but I still felt like I was trapped in a locked safe while people on the outside were fucking about w ith blowtorches and gelignite. It wasn't simply that I couldn't see what was happening. It was having no control that bothered me . I was at the mercy of the driver, the gunner, and the commander in the turret. He was a platoon sergeant called Rhett or Red - I didn't catch it when we met, and then we got past the point wher e I could ask again. Our Warrior was part of the battle group's recce platoon. Dom, Pete and I were embedded. 'Entombed, more lik e,' Pete said. He'd been a tankie himself once upon a time, and e ven he didn't like the lid coming down. We were jammed shoulder t o shoulder in the eerie red glow of the night-lights. Rhett's scu ffed and dusty desert boots were level with my face. The gunner w as up there on his left, frantically feeding rounds into the 30mm cannon. The wagon took one final hard right and came to a jarri ng, gut-wrenching halt. The stern reared up under the momentum, t hen crashed down like a breaking wave. 'Dismount! Dismount!' Rh ett's shout was drowned by the cannon kicking off above us. Dom got a punch from one of the Kingsmen and hit the button above his head. The rear-door hydraulics whined. I could see stars, hear t he roar of gunfire and heavy machinery. The four recce guys tumb led out into the inky blackness. Pete shoved a hand over his lens and we followed. My Timberlands slid and twisted on the rubble as I ducked down against the bar armour, gulping fresh but dust-l aden air. Oil wells blazed out of control on the horizon. Gases a nd crude were being forced out of the ground under phenomenal pre ssure, shooting flames a hundred feet into the air. The night wa s filled with the thunder of 30mm cannon kicking off across the d ried-up wadi bed that separated us from our target - the building s no more than a hundred away. It had prevented the drivers going right up to the front doors. I was hungry for more air. My nost rils filled with sand, but I didn't care. I had my feet on the gr ound and I was in control of them. And, thanks to the mortar plat oon, I could see what was happening. Their 81mm tubes had filled the sky with illume. Balls of blazing magnesium hung in the air a bove the town before beginning their descent, casting shadows lef t and right as they swung under their parachutes, silhouetting th e two massive Challengers rumbling left and right of us. Bright muzzle flashes from four or five AKs sparked up from the line of houses that edged the built-up area. Our gunner switched from th e 30mm Rarden cannon to the 7.62mm Hughes Helicopter Chain Gun to dish out a different edition of the same good news. Two Warrior s lurched to a halt alongside us, throwing up a plume of dust. My nose was totally clogged now. Guys spilled out of the back doors with bayonets fixed. Pete adjusted the oversized Batman utility belt round his waist where he stuffed his lenses and shit, and r aised his infrared camera to his face. He was like a kid in a swe etshop as the mass of armour surrounding the town spewed infantry into the sand. Dom got ready to do his Jeremy Bowen bit to came ra. He rehearsed a few soundbites to himself as Pete sorted the s ound check. 'The Kingsmen of the Duke of Lancaster's Regiment ar e halfway through their six-month tour. They have been shot at tw enty-four/seven by small arms, RPGs and mortars, but ask any one of them and they'll tell you it's what they signed up to do.' To night they were about to kick the shit out of the insurgents who were within spitting distance of taking over Al Gurnan and starti ng to claim the ground as their own. They had to be broken. An in surgent stronghold soon became another link in the supply chain f rom Iran, just ten clicks away. The Kingsmen's mission was to do the breaking, and ours was to report it. Dom talked, Pete filmed him, and I had to make sure the two didn't get shot, snatched, o r run over by a set of tracks sent screaming across the desert by a bunch of jabbering Scousers. It wasn't easy. When Dom started playing newsman, he seemed to think there was a magic six-foot f orcefield standing between him and any incoming fire. Sometimes h e thought he didn't even need to wear a helmet. But in this war t he enemy didn't give a shit whether you were a journalist or a so ldier. If you were a foreigner they wanted you out, preferably in a body-bag. If they could get you alive, so much the better: you 'd be the new star of The Al Jazeera Show, and all you could do w as hope your next appearance wouldn't end with them slicing off y our head online. The chain gun ceased fire. The Kingsmen swarmed down into the wadi. Dom made to follow, but I grabbed him and p ulled him on to his knees. Another flurry of illume kicked off ov er the town and the cannon opened up again. I had to scream into his ear: 'They said not to go forward until they call us! Wait. L et them get on with it.' The Kingsmen vanished for a few seconds in the dead ground of the riverbed, before reappearing on the fa r bank, screaming and shouting all sorts of Scouse shit they prob ably didn't even understand themselves. They kicked their way th rough a series of old wooden doors and into whatever chaos lay th e other side. ., Bantam Press, 2007, 2.5, Penguin Books. Good. 8.2 x 5.1 x 1.2 inches. Paperback. 2006. 414 pages. Cover worn.<br>A #1 New York Times Bestseller! Funny, insightful, illuminating . . . --The Boston Globe Twelve years ago, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil exploded into a monu mental success, residing a record-breaking four years on the New York Times bestseller list (longer than any work of fiction or no nfiction had before) and turning John Berendt into a household na me. The City of Falling Angels is Berendt's first book since Midn ight, and it immediately reminds one what all the fuss was about. Turning to the magic, mystery, and decadence of Venice, Berendt gradually reveals the truth behind a sensational fire that in 199 6 destroyed the historic Fenice opera house. Encountering a rich cast of characters, Berendt tells a tale full of atmosphere and s urprise as the stories build, one after the other, ultimately com ing together to portray a world as finely drawn as a still-life p ainting. Editorial Reviews Review Funny, insightful, illuminati ng . . . [Venice] reveals itself, slowly, discreetly, under Beren dt's gentle but persistent prying. --The Boston Globe Berendt ha s given us something uniquely different . . . . Thanks to [his] s plendid cityportrait, even those of us far from Venice can marvel . --The Wall Street Journal About the Author John Berendt has be en a columnist for Esquire and the editor of New York magazine, a nd is the author of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, whic h was a finalist for the 1995 Pulitzer Prize in general nonfictio n. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. An E vening in Venice THE AIR STILL SMELLED OF CHARCOAL when I arriv ed in Venice three days after the fire. As it happened, the timin g of my visit was purely coincidental. I had made plans, months b efore, to come to Venice for a few weeks in the off-season in ord er to enjoy the city without the crush of other tourists. If the re had been a wind Monday night, the water-taxi driver told me as we came across the lagoon from the airport, there wouldn't be a Venice to come to. How did it happen? I asked. The taxi driver shrugged. How do all these things happen? It was early February, in the middle of the peaceful lull that settles over Venice ever y year between New Year's Day and Carnival. The tourists had gone , and in their absence the Venice they inhabited had all but clos ed down. Hotel lobbies and souvenir shops stood virtually empty. Gondolas lay tethered to poles and covered in blue tarpaulin. Unb ought copies of the International Herald Tribune remained on news stand racks all day, and pigeons abandoned sparse pickings in St. Mark's Square to scavenge for crumbs in other parts of the city. Meanwhile the other Venice, the one inhabited by Venetians, was as busy as ever-the neighborhood shops, the vegetable stands, th e fish markets, the wine bars. For these few weeks, Venetians cou ld stride through their city without having to squeeze past dense clusters of slow-moving tourists. The city breathed, its pulse q uickened. Venetians had Venice all to themselves. But the atmosp here was subdued. People spoke in hushed, dazed tones of the sort one hears when there has been a sudden death in the family. The subject was on everyone's lips. Within days I had heard about it in such detail I felt as if I had been there myself. IT HAPPENED ON MONDAY EVENING, January 29, 1996. Shortly before nine o'cloc k, Archimede Seguso sat down at the dinner table and unfolded his napkin. Before joining him, his wife went into the living room t o lower the curtains, which was her long-standing evening ritual. Signora Seguso knew very well that no one could see in through t he windows, but it was her way of enfolding her family in a domes tic embrace. The Segusos lived on the third floor of Ca' Capello, a sixteenth-century house in the heart of Venice. A narrow canal wrapped around two sides of the building before flowing into the Grand Canal a short distance away. Signor Seguso waited patient ly at the table. He was eighty-six-tall, thin, his posture still erect. A fringe of wispy white hair and flaring eyebrows gave him the look of a kindly sorcerer, full of wonder and surprise. He h ad an animated face and sparkling eyes that captivated everyone w ho met him. If you happened to be in his presence for any length of time, however, your eye would eventually be drawn to his hands . They were large, muscular hands, the hands of an artisan whose work demanded physical strength. For seventy-five years, Signor Seguso had stood in front of a blazing-hot glassworks furnace-ten , twelve, eighteen hours a day-holding a heavy steel pipe in his hands, turning it to prevent the dollop of molten glass at the ot her end from drooping to one side or the other, pausing to blow i nto it to inflate the glass, then laying it across his workbench, still turning it with his left hand while, with a pair of tongs in his right hand, pulling, pinching, and coaxing the glass into the shape of graceful vases, bowls, and goblets. After all those years of turning the steel pipe hour after hour, Signor Seguso's left hand had molded itself around the pipe until it became perm anently cupped, as if the pipe were always in it. His cupped hand was the proud mark of his craft, and this was why the artist who painted his portrait some years ago had taken particular care to show the curve in his left hand. Men in the Seguso family had b een glassmakers since the fourteenth century. Archimede was the t wenty-first generation and one of the greatest of them all. He co uld sculpt heavy pieces out of solid glass and blow vases so thin and fragile they could barely be touched. He was the first glass maker ever to see his work honored with an exhibition in the Doge 's Palace in St. Mark's Square. Tiffany sold his pieces in its Fi fth Avenue store. Archimede Seguso had been making glass since t he age of eleven, and by the time he was twenty, he had earned th e nickname Mago del Fuoco (Wizard of Fire). He no longer had the stamina to stand in front of a hot and howling furnace eighteen h ours a day, but he worked every day nonetheless, and with undimin ished pleasure. On this particular day, in fact, he had risen at his usual hour of 4:30 A.M., convinced as always that the pieces he was about to make would be more beautiful than any he had ever made before. In the living room, Signora Seguso paused to look out the window before lowering the curtain. She noticed that the air had become hazy, and she mused aloud that a winter fog had se t in. In response, Signor Seguso remarked from the other room tha t it must have come in very quickly, because he had seen the quar ter moon in a clear sky only a few minutes before. The living ro om window looked across a small canal at the back of the Fenice O pera House, thirty feet away. Rising above it in the distance, so me one hundred yards away, the theater's grand entrance wing appe ared to be shrouded in mist. Just as she started to lower the cur tain, Signora Seguso saw a flash. She thought it was lightning. T hen she saw another flash, and this time she knew it was fire. P apa! she cried out. The Fenice is on fire! Signor Seguso came qu ickly to the window. More flames flickered at the front of the th eater, illuminating what Signora Seguso had thought was mist but had in fact been smoke. She rushed to the telephone and dialed 11 5 for the fire brigade. Signor Seguso went into his bedroom and s tood at the corner window, which was even closer to the Fenice th an the living room window. Between the fire and the Segusos' hou se lay a jumble of buildings that constituted the Fenice. The par t on fire was farthest away, the chaste neoclassical entrance win g with its formal reception rooms, known collectively as the Apol lonian rooms. Then came the main body of the theater with its ela borately rococo auditorium, and finally the vast backstage area. Flaring out from both sides of the auditorium and the backstage w ere clusters of smaller, interconnected buildings like the one th at housed the scenery workshop immediately across the narrow cana l from Signor Seguso. Signora Seguso could not get through to th e fire brigade, so she dialed 112 for the police. The enormity o f what was happening outside his window stunned Signor Seguso. Th e Gran Teatro La Fenice was one of the splendors of Venice; it wa s arguably the most beautiful opera house in the world, and one o f the most significant. The Fenice had commissioned dozens of ope ras that had premiered on its stage-Verdi's La Traviata and Rigol etto, Igor Stravinsky's The Rake's Progress, Benjamin Britten's T he Turn of the Screw. For two hundred years, audiences had deligh ted in the sumptuous clarity of the Fenice's acoustics, the magni ficence of its five tiers of gilt-encrusted boxes, and the baroqu e fantasy of it all. Signor and Signora Seguso had always taken a box for the season, and over the years they had been given incre asingly desirable locations until they finally found themselves n ext to the royal box. Signora Seguso had no luck getting through to the police either, and now she was becoming frantic. She call ed upstairs to the apartment where her son Gino lived with his wi fe and their son, Antonio. Gino was still out at the Seguso glass factory in Murano. Antonio was visiting a friend near the Rialto . Signor Seguso stood silently at his bedroom window, watching a s the flames raced across the entire top floor of the entrance wi ng. He knew that, for all its storied loveliness, the Fenice was at this moment an enormous pile of exquisite kindling. Inside a t hick shell of Istrian stone lined with brick, the structure was m ade entirely of wood-wooden beams, wooden floors, wooden walls-ri chly embellished with wood carvings, sculpted stucco, and papier- mâché, all of it covered with layer upon layer of lacquer and gil t. Signor Seguso was aware, too, that the scenery workshop just a cross the canal from his house was stocked with solvents and, mos t worrisome of all, cylinders of propane gas that were used for w elding and soldering. Signora Seguso came back into the room to say she had finally spoken with the police. They already knew ab out the fire, she said. They told me we should leave the house at once. She looked over her husband's shoulder and stifled a screa m; the flames had moved closer in the short time she had been awa y from the window. They were now advancing through the four small er reception halls toward the main body of the theater, in their direction. Archimede Seguso stared into the fire with an apprais ing eye. He opened the window, and a gust of bitter-cold air rush ed in. The wind was blowing to the southwest. The Segusos were du e west of the theater, however, and Signor Seguso calculated that if the wind did not change direction or pick up strength, the fi re would advance toward the other side of the Fenice rather than in their direction. Now, Nandina, he said softly, stay calm. We' re not in any danger. The Segusos' house was only one of many bu ildings close to the Fenice. Except for Campo San Fantin, a small plaza at the front of the theater, the Fenice was hemmed in by o ld and equally flammable buildings, many of them attached to it o r separated from it by only four or five feet. This was not at al l unusual in Venice, where building space had always been at a pr emium. Seen from above, Venice resembled a jigsaw puzzle of terra -cotta rooftops. Passages between some of the buildings were so n arrow one could not walk through them with an open umbrella. It h ad become a specialty of Venetian burglars to escape from the sce ne of a crime by leaping from roof to roof. If the fire in the Fe nice were able to make the same sort of leap, it would almost cer tainly destroy a sizable swath of Venice. The Fenice itself was dark. It had been closed five months for renovations and was due to reopen in a month. The canal along its rear façade was also cl osed-empty-having been sealed off and drained so work crews could dredge the silt and sludge from it and repair its walls for the first time in forty years. The canal between the Segusos' buildin g and the back of the Fenice was now a deep, muddy gulch with a t angle of exposed pipes and a few pieces of heavy machinery sittin g in puddles at the bottom. The empty canal would make it impossi ble for fireboats to reach the Fenice, and, worse than that, it w ould deprive them of a source of water. Venetian firemen depended on water pumped directly from the canals to put out fires. The c ity had no system of fire hydrants. THE FENICE WAS NOW RINGED BY A TUMULT OF SHOUTS and running footsteps. Tenants, routed from t heir houses by the police, crossed paths with patrons coming out of the Ristorante Antico Martini. A dozen bewildered guests rolle d suitcases out of the Hotel La Fenice, asking directions to the Hotel Saturnia, where they had been told to go. Into their midst, a wild-eyed woman wearing only a nightgown came stumbling from h er house into Campo San Fantin screaming hysterically. She threw herself to the ground in front of the theater, flailing her arms and rolling on the pavement. Several waiters came out of the Anti co Martini and led her inside. Two fireboats managed to navigate to a water-filled canal a short distance from the Fenice. Their hoses were not long enough to reach around the intervening buildi ngs, however, so the firemen dragged them through the kitchen win dow at the back of the Antico Martini and out through the dining room into Campo San Fantin. They aimed their nozzles at flames bu rning furiously in a top-floor window of the theater, but the wat er pressure was too low. The arc of water barely reached the wind owsill. The fire went on leaping and taunting and sucking up grea t turbulent currents of air that set the flames snapping like bri lliant red sails in a violent wind. Several policemen struggled with the massive front door of the Fenice, but to no avail. One o f them drew his pistol and fired three shots at the lock. The doo r opened. Two firemen rushed in and disappeared into a dense whit e wall of smoke. Moments later they came running out. It's too la te, said one. It's burning like straw. The wail of sirens now fi lled the air as police and firemen raced up and down the Grand Ca nal in motorboats, spanking up huge butterfly wings of spray as t hey bounced through the wakes of other boats. About an hour after the first alarm, the city's big fire launch pulled up at the lan ding stage behind Haig's Bar. Its high-powered rigs would at last be able to pump water the two hundre, Penguin Books, 2006, 2.5, Tor Books. Very Good. 5.5 x 0.75 x 8.5 inches. Paperback. 2005. 336 pages. <br>This is the first novel in what has become one of the most popular series in contemporary SF, now back in print fro m Tor. In the 24th century, the Company preserves works of art an d extinct forms of life (for profit of course). It recruits orpha ns from the past, renders them all but immortal, and trains them to serve the Company, Dr. Zeus. One of these is Mendoza the botan ist. She is sent to Elizabethan England to collect samples from t he garden of Sir Walter Iden. But while there, she meets Nichola s Harpole, with whom she falls in love. And that love sounds grea t bells of change that will echo down the centuries, and through the succeeding novels of The Company. Editorial Reviews Review Baker's characterizations are robust and detailed, as is her dev elopment of the historical setting ... [Readers] will recognize i n Baker a fantasist of considerable promise. ?Publishers Weekly So, how do you classify a seriously philosophical time-travel sto ry of a young cyborg's first love amid religious conflict? As a g ood read. ?Locus A highly impressive and thoroughly engrossing d ebut. ?Kirkus Reviews on In the Garden of Iden The debut of a ma jor talent. Kage Baker is a fresh, audacious, ambitious new voice . ?Gardner Dozois on In the Garden of Iden The prose is compulsi vely readable - it has the breezy feel of someone casually tellin g us a story, a feeling I associate with, say, Heinlein at his be st. . . In fact, the whole book is a great deal of fun . . . it's easily on a level with Le Guin's or Resnick's first novels. ?New York Review of SF About the Author Kage Baker was an artist, a ctor, and director at the Living History Centre and taught Elizab ethan English as a Second Language. Her books include In the Gard en of Iden, Sky Coyote, and Mendoza in Hollywood, among many othe rs. Born in 1952 in Hollywood, she lived in Pismo Beach, Californ ia, the Clam Capital of the World. She died on January 31, 2010. About the Author Kage Baker was an artist, actor, and director a t the Living History Centre and taught Elizabethan English as a S econd Language. Her books include In the Garden of Iden, Sky Coyo te, and Mendoza in Hollywood, among many others. Born in 1952 in Hollywood, she lived in Pismo Beach, California, the Clam Capital of the World. She died on January 31, 2010. Excerpt. ® Reprinte d by permission. All rights reserved. In the Garden of Iden By Kage Baker Tor Books Copyright &copy 2005 Kage Baker All right r eserved. ISBN: 9780765314574 Chapter One I AM A BOTANIST. I wil l write down the story of my life asan exercise, to provide the i llusion of conversation in this place where Iam now alone. It wil l be a long story, because it was a long road thatbrought me here , and it led through blazing Spain and green, greenEngland and ev er so many centuries of Time. But you'll understand itbest if I b egin by telling you what I learned in school. Once, there was a cabal of merchants and scientists whose purposewas to make money and improve the lot of humankind. They inventedTime Travel and Im mortality. Now, I was taught that they inventedTime Travel first and developed Immortals so they could send peoplesafely back thro ugh the years. In reality it was the other way around. The proce ss for Immortalitywas developed first. In order to test it, they had to invent Time Travel. It worked like this: they would send a team of doctors into the past,into 1486 for example, and select some lucky native of that time andconfer immortality on him. The n they'd go back to their own time andsee if their test case was still around. Had he survived the interveningnine hundred years? He had? How wonderful. Werethere any unpleasant side effects? The re were? Oops. They'd go backto the drawing board and then back t o 1486 to try the new, improvedprocess on another native. Then th ey'd go home again, to see how thisone turned out. Still not perf ect? They'd try again. After all, they wereonly expending a few d ays of their own time. The flawed immortalscouldn't sue them, and there was a certain satisfaction in finallydiscovering what made all those Dutchmen fly and Jews wander. But the experiments did n't precisely pan out. Immortality is not forthe general public. Oh, it works. God, how it works. But it can haveseveral undesirab le side effects, mental instability being one of them,and there a re certain restrictions that make it impractical for generalsale. For example, it only really works on little children with flexib leminds and bodies. It does not work on middle-aged millionaires, whichis a pity, because they are the only consumers who can affo rd theprocess. So this cabal (they called themselves Dr. Zeus, I ncorporated) cameup with a limited version of the procedure and m arketed it as trulysuperior geriatric medicine. As such it was fa bulously profitable, andeveryone commended Dr. Zeus. Everyone, o f course, except all those flawed immortals. But about the Time Travel part. Somehow, Dr. Zeus invented a time transcendence fie ld. It, too, hadits limitations. Time travel is only possible bac kward, for one thing.You can return to your own present once you' ve finished yourbusiness in the past, but you can't jump forward into your future. Somuch for finding out who's going to win in th e fifth race at Santa Anitaon April 1, 2375. Still, Dr. Zeus pla yed around with the field and discovered whatcould at first be ta ken as a comforting fact: History cannot be changed.You can't go back and save Lincoln, but neither can youerase your own present by accidentally killing one of your ancestors.To repeat, history cannot be changed. However--and listen closely, this is the impo rtant part--this law canonly be observed to apply to recorded his tory. See the implications? You can't loot the future, but you c an loot the past. I'll spell it out for you. If history states t hat John Jones won a milliondollars in the lottery on a certain d ay in the past, you can't go backthere and win the lottery instea d. But you can make sure that JohnJones is an agent of yours, who will purchase the winning ticket onthat day and dutifully invest the proceeds for you. From your vantagepoint in the future, you tell him which investments are sound andwhich financial instituti ons are stable. Result: the longest of long-termdividends for fut ure you. And suppose you have John Jones purchase property with hislottery winnings, and transfer title to a mysterious holding f irm?Suppose you have an army of John Joneses all doing the same t hing?If you started early enough, and kept at it long enough, you couldpretty much own the world. Dr. Zeus did. Overnight they d iscovered assets they never knew they had,administered by long-li ved law firms with ancient instructions todeliver interest accrue d, on a certain day in 2335, to a descendant ofthe original inves tor. And the money was nothing compared to the realestate. As lon g as they stayed within the frame of recorded history,they had th e ability to prearrange things so that every event that everhappe ned fell out to the Company's advantage. At about this point, th e scientist members of the cabal protestedthat Dr. Zeus's focus s eemed to have shifted to ruling the world, andhadn't the Mission Statement mentioned something about improvingthe lot of humanity too? The merchant members of thecabal smiled pleasantly and point ed out that history, after all, cannotbe changed, so there was a limit to how much humanity's lot could beimproved without running up against that immutable law. But remember, Gentle Reader, tha t that law can only be seen toapply to recorded history. The test case was the famous Library ofAlexandria, burned with all its bo oks by a truculent invader.Technically, the library couldn't be s aved, because historyemphatically states that it was destroyed. H owever, Dr. Zeus sent acouple of clerks back to the library with a battery-powered copierdisguised as a lap desk. Working nights o ver many years, theytransferred every book in the place to film b efore the arsonist got to it,and took it all back to 2335. Even though the books turned out to be mostly liberal arts stufflike p oetry and philosophy that nobody could understand anymore,the poi nt was made, the paradox solved: What had been dead could bemade to live again. What had been lost could be found. Over the next few months in 2335, previously unknown works ofart by the great m asters began turning up in strange places. Buried inlead caskets in cellars in Switzerland, hidden in vaults in the VaticanLibrary , concealed under hunting scenes by successful third-rateVictoria n commercial painters: Da Vincis and Rodins and Van Goghs allover the place, undocumented, uncatalogued, but genuine articlesnonet heless. Take the case of The Kale Eaters, the unknown first vers ion of VanGogh's early Potato Eaters. It wasn't possible for the Company to godrug Van Gogh in his studio, take the newly finished painting, and leaphome with it: nothing can be transported forwa rd out of its own time.What they did was drug poor Vincent, take The Kale Eaters and seal itin a protective coat of great chemical complexity, paint it over in black,and present it to a furniture maker in Wyoming (old USA), who used itto back a chair that late r found its way into a folk arts-and-craftsmuseum, and later stil l into othermuseums, until some zealous restorer X-rayed the chai r and got theshock of his life. Needless to say, the chair was at that time in acollection owned by Dr. Zeus. As it happens, ther e are all sorts of chests and cupboards in lonelyhouses that don' t get explored for years on end. There are buildingsthat survive bombings, fire, and flood, so that no one ever sees what'shidden in their walls or under their floorboards. The unlikely things th atget buried in graves alone would astonish you. Get yourself a d atabaseto keep track of all such safe hiding places, and you too can go into theMiraculous Recovery business. And why stop there? Art is all very well and can fetch a good price,but what the pay ing public really wants is dinosaurs. Not dinosaurs literally, o f course. Everyone knew what happenedwhen you tried to revive din osaurs. But the Romance of Extinction wasbig business in the twen ty-fourth century. To sell merchandise, youhad merely to slap a p icture of something extinct on it. A tiger, forexample. Or a gori lla. Or a whale. Crying over spilt milk was de rigueurby that tim e. What better way to cash in on ecological nostalgia than torevi ve supposedly extinct species? In May of 2336, people turned on their newspapers and learnedthat a small colony of passenger pige ons had been discovered inIceland, of all places. In Christmas of that same year, four blue whaleswere sighted off the coast of Ch ile. In March of 2337, a stand of SantaLucia fir trees, a primiti ve conifer thought extinct for two centuries,was found growing in a corner of the Republic of California. Everyoneapplauded polite ly (people never get as excited over plants as they doover animal s), but what didn't make the news was that this species of firwas the only known host of a species of lichen that had certaininval uable medical properties ... Miracles? Not at all. Dr. Zeus had collected breeding pairs of thepigeons in upstate New York in the year 1500. They were protected andbred in a Dr. Zeus station in Canada for over half a millenniumand then released to the outside world again. Similar arrangementswere made for the whales and th e fir trees. Anyway, when the public imagination was all aglow w ith thesemarvelous discoveries, Dr. Zeus let the truth be known. Not all thetruth, naturally, and not widely known; business didn' t work that wayin the twenty-fourth century. But rumor and wild s urmise worked aswell as the plushiest advertising campaign, and t he Company didn'thave to pay a cent for it. It got to be known th at if you knew the rightpeople and could meet the price, you coul d have any treasure from thepast; you could raise the lamented de ad. The orders began to come in. Obsessive collectors of art an d literature. Philanthropistssentimental about lost species. Phar maceutical companies desperatefor new biological sources. Strange r people, with stranger needs andplenty of ready cash. There were only two or three questions. Who was running Dr. Zeus now? Even its founders weren't sure. Itsmost secretive inner circle couldn 't have said positively. Suddenly theywere surrounded by the prea rranged fruits of somebody's labor on theirbehalf--but whose labo r? Just how many people worked for theCompany? Also, were they n ow faced with the responsibility of making surehistory happened a t all? Quite a few species had been declared extinct,only to turn up alive and well in unexpected places. Were these Dr.Zeus proje cts they hadn't been aware of? Someone went digging in theCompany archives and discovered that the coelacanth was a Dr. Zeusspecia l. So was the rule elk. So was the dodo, the cheetah, Pere David' sdeer. And the Company archives had an unsettling way of expandin gwhen no one was looking. Finally, where do you get the support personnel for an operationthe size that this one had to be? Besid es the cost of sending modernagents to and from the past, the age nts themselves hated it. They saidit was dangerous back there. It was dirty. People talked funny andthe clothes were uncomfortable and the food was disgusting. Couldn'tsomebody be found who was b etter suited to deal with the past? Well. Remember all those tes t-case immortals? A team from the future was sent back to histor y's predawn, to buildtraining centers in unpopulated places. They went out and got childrenfrom the local Neanderthals and Cro-Mag nons, and shaved theirdiverse little skulls and worked the Immort ality Process on their littlebrains and bodies. They brought them up with careful indoctrinationand superior education. Then they went back to their own time, leavingthe new agents there to expan d the operation. And what did Dr. Zeus have then? A permanent wo rkforce thatdidn't have to be shipped back and forth through time , that didn't sufferculture shock, and that never, never needed m edical benefits. Or, to putit in the corporate prose of the Offic ial Company History: slowly theseagents would labor through the c enturies for Dr. Zeus, unshakable intheir loyalty. They had been gifted with Immortality, after all. They knewthey had a share in the glorious world of the future. They were providedwith all the great literature and cinema of ages unborn. Their life work(their unending life, Tor Books, 2005, 3, Harlequin, 4/19/2016 12:00:01 A. mass_market. Good. 0.7000 in x 6.0000 in x 4.1000 in. This is a used book in good condition and may show some signs of use or wear ., Harlequin, 4/19/2016 12:00:01 A, 2.5, J. B. Lippincott Company (1945), 1945. Hardcover. Very Good/Good. 12 mo., hardcover, VG in somewhat edgeworn brown ictorial dj. Book Club Edition. A racy, compassionate story about the new America that Air Force Lt. Dan Corbett found when he came back from the blazing skies of Europe. 224 pp., J. B. Lippincott Company (1945), 1945, 2.75<

1945, ISBN: 99a422c265bc7a5cd7a9dc5cad4f0650

Gebundene Ausgabe

Young Readers Press, Inc.. Fair. 1972. Paperback. 6 oz.; PB heavy wear aged tape reinforced spine solid reading copy only. Billy and his pony Blaze love to explore the forest. So one day… Mehr…

Young Readers Press, Inc.. Fair. 1972. Paperback. 6 oz.; PB heavy wear aged tape reinforced spine solid reading copy only. Billy and his pony Blaze love to explore the forest. So one day they set out on an old woodland road that is new to them. They have a wonderful ride, but their adventures soon lead them off the trail and deep into the woods. Before they know it, the sky grows dark with a coming storm, and Billy can't find the way out of the woods. Can Blaze find the trail and get them safely home again? ., Young Readers Press, Inc., 1972, 2, 360 pages."Young Theo Paxstone aspires to a better life. A mechanic at a steam mech repair shop, he slaves away under the sharp eye of the ruthless Master Grimes, along with dozens of other orphan boys. The biggest and meanest of them, Grant, has in it for Theo and his best friend, Ollie, the shop's parts-spotter cockatoo. The chatty bird helps keep Theo going, as every day is a struggle for survival.When the largest dragon ever seen descends out of the night sky and sets the royal tournament aflame, Theo escapes to help. He saves a crippled steam knight, Sir Bentham, from the blaze, assisted by Bentham's pugnacious squire, Riley.Together, they decide to hunt the monstrous dragon down before it can kill again.But nothing is as it seems, and Theo soon finds himself caught up in an adventure that will turn his entire world upside down...THEO PAXSTONE AND THE DRAGON OF ADYRON is a fast-paced fantasy adventure that brings together steampunk and medieval myths, pitting noble knights in steam powered battle machines against dragons. Yet the feudal Kingdom of Adyron is mired in injustice, and even the heroes have something to hide."Like some sort of steampunk Robotech without the convoluted timeline, the first adventure of Theo Paxstone features an appealing cast of central characters and an intriguing plot that zips along at a delightful pace. The adventure is serious, but Turner lobs some light touches and natural humour into the fray. The book is such an adept balancing act, your "sauce-box" will drop open when you learn it's his first book for younger readers."Evan Munday, author of the Silver Birch-shortlisted 'The Dead Kid Detective Agency''This is a charming futurist fantasy that will appeal to young steampunk fans. In a world of ravaged by global conflagration, humankind has reverted to a feudal society powered by steam. An orphan named Theo uses his mechanical genius to find a ticket out of a crowded sweatshop, offering his services to an old knight with a heart of gold. Yes, there is a quest, but no, it doesn't turn out the way you'd expect. It's a fun read enhanced by the author's quirky illustrations.'Sheree-Lee Olson, author of 'Sailor Girl'."James Turner is the creator of the comic book series 'Rex Libris.' (jc1218), Self-published, 2017, 0, New York: Zebra Men's Adventure, 1984. 240 Pages. August 1984 Edition. Price Sticker on back cover. Square, tight and bright. World War III was only the beginning. Inevitable death now awaits every soul who lived through the holocasut as the earth's atmosphere is about to explode into a searing blaze of fire. But one man refuses to die, refuses to accept the horror. John Thomas Rourke, the ex-CIA Covert Operations Officer, weapons expert and suvival authority. Rouke, desperate to find and save his family, must first smash through Russian patrols and then cut to the heart of a KGB plot that could spawn a lasting legacy of evil. And when the sky bursts into flames, consumiing every living being on the planet, it will be the ultimate test for the Survivalist. . Fourth Printing. Mass Market Paperback. Good., Zebra Men's Adventure, 1984, 2.5, J. B. Lippincott Company (1945), 1945. 12 mo., hardcover, VG in somewhat edgeworn brown ictorial dj. Book Club Edition. A racy, compassionate story about the new America that Air Force Lt. Dan Corbett found when he came back from the blazing skies of Europe. 224 pp.. Hardcover. Very Good/Good., J. B. Lippincott Company (1945), 1945, 2.75<

1945, ISBN: 99a422c265bc7a5cd7a9dc5cad4f0650

Gebundene Ausgabe

Young Readers Press, Inc.. Fair. 1972. Paperback. 6 oz.; PB heavy wear aged tape reinforced spine solid reading copy only. Billy and his pony Blaze love to explore the forest. So one day… Mehr…

Young Readers Press, Inc.. Fair. 1972. Paperback. 6 oz.; PB heavy wear aged tape reinforced spine solid reading copy only. Billy and his pony Blaze love to explore the forest. So one day they set out on an old woodland road that is new to them. They have a wonderful ride, but their adventures soon lead them off the trail and deep into the woods. Before they know it, the sky grows dark with a coming storm, and Billy can't find the way out of the woods. Can Blaze find the trail and get them safely home again? ., Young Readers Press, Inc., 1972, 2, 360 pages."Young Theo Paxstone aspires to a better life. A mechanic at a steam mech repair shop, he slaves away under the sharp eye of the ruthless Master Grimes, along with dozens of other orphan boys. The biggest and meanest of them, Grant, has in it for Theo and his best friend, Ollie, the shop's parts-spotter cockatoo. The chatty bird helps keep Theo going, as every day is a struggle for survival.When the largest dragon ever seen descends out of the night sky and sets the royal tournament aflame, Theo escapes to help. He saves a crippled steam knight, Sir Bentham, from the blaze, assisted by Bentham's pugnacious squire, Riley.Together, they decide to hunt the monstrous dragon down before it can kill again.But nothing is as it seems, and Theo soon finds himself caught up in an adventure that will turn his entire world upside down...THEO PAXSTONE AND THE DRAGON OF ADYRON is a fast-paced fantasy adventure that brings together steampunk and medieval myths, pitting noble knights in steam powered battle machines against dragons. Yet the feudal Kingdom of Adyron is mired in injustice, and even the heroes have something to hide."Like some sort of steampunk Robotech without the convoluted timeline, the first adventure of Theo Paxstone features an appealing cast of central characters and an intriguing plot that zips along at a delightful pace. The adventure is serious, but Turner lobs some light touches and natural humour into the fray. The book is such an adept balancing act, your "sauce-box" will drop open when you learn it's his first book for younger readers."Evan Munday, author of the Silver Birch-shortlisted 'The Dead Kid Detective Agency''This is a charming futurist fantasy that will appeal to young steampunk fans. In a world of ravaged by global conflagration, humankind has reverted to a feudal society powered by steam. An orphan named Theo uses his mechanical genius to find a ticket out of a crowded sweatshop, offering his services to an old knight with a heart of gold. Yes, there is a quest, but no, it doesn't turn out the way you'd expect. It's a fun read enhanced by the author's quirky illustrations.'Sheree-Lee Olson, author of 'Sailor Girl'."James Turner is the creator of the comic book series 'Rex Libris.' (jc1218), Self-published, 2017, 0, J. B. Lippincott Company (1945), 1945. 12 mo., hardcover, VG in somewhat edgeworn brown ictorial dj. Book Club Edition. A racy, compassionate story about the new America that Air Force Lt. Dan Corbett found when he came back from the blazing skies of Europe. 224 pp.. Hardcover. Very Good/Good., J. B. Lippincott Company (1945), 1945, 2.75<